Wild Honor

by Tripp Ellis

  "Damn right I'm not going to let this go!”

  "And that's exactly what got you in trouble in Los Angeles.”

  I clenched my jaw.

  "All I'm saying, is don't go take matters into your own hands. I know how pissed off you are, but you need to go by the book."

  "Right now the book has me on inactive status. I don't know how long it's going to take to square up this LA mess. You know how time-critical these cases can be."

  "I will do everything I can. You know that,” Denise said.

  I nodded.

  She leaned across the console and gave me a long, tight hug. I didn't want to let go of her.

  When she broke away, her cheek brushed against mine. She lingered close, our lips inches apart. I could feel her sweet breath on my skin. Her fruity shampoo filled my nostrils. Heat radiated from her skin. For a moment, I forgot about the news reporters outside the vehicle.

  Our lips inched toward each other on a collision course that had been inevitable since the moment I first set eyes on her. We were both in a heightened emotional state, and I needed something to comfort my soul. Denise could soothe my soul in spades.

  Collision in 3...

  2...

  “Are you the deputy that was accused of assault in California?" a reporter shouted through glass, interrupting what could have been the most passionate kiss of my life.

  I scowled at the reporter.

  Denise pulled away and composed herself. "Jack's going to be fine. Something like this isn't going to keep him down. He’ll bounce back.”

  I wanted to believe it.

  We stared at each other for a long, awkward moment.

  "I should get home,” Denise said.

  I nodded, then pushed the door open and strolled across the parking lot to my bike. I pulled on my helmet, straddled the beast, and cranked up the engine. I waited for Denise to drive out of the parking lot before leaving. I twisted the throttle and cruised back to the marina.

  Big Tony called as I strolled down the dock. "I saw on the news what happened to Jack. Is he going to be okay?"

  I filled Tony in on the details. Tony knew just about everyone who was anyone in Coconut Key. His poker game was frequented by politicians, celebrities, drug dealers, tech millionaires, and anyone else with money to burn.

  ”You know a low-level dealer named Bam Bam?" I asked.

  Tony growled. "Yeah. I know that guy."

  "I take it you don't have anything good to say about him?"

  "Just another one of these punks. No class. I had to kick him out of one of my games. Caught the bastard cheating." He paused for a moment. "Why do you ask? You think he may have had something to do with this?"

  "It's possible, but… I don't know. If I had anything on him, I'd bring him in."

  "Sit tight," Tony said with a growl. "I'll get back to you shortly."

  He hung up the phone, and I strolled across the gangway to the aft deck of the Vivere. I wasn't sure what Tony was up to, but he sounded determined.

  Buddy greeted me in the salon with a wagging tail. I knelt down and loved on the Jack Russell, then poured myself another glass of whiskey to unwind. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. Anger swelled within. I wanted to dispense swift justice. But there was no way for me to do that just yet.

  33

  “Meet me at Major Third,” Tony said when he called back.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  Major Third was an upscale jazz bar on Oyster Avenue. A gorgeous blonde in a red sequined dress clung to a retro microphone. Her hair was sculpted to perfection. She looked like a classic movie star. Her velvety voice filtered through the club, as a virtuoso tickled the keys behind her. The base was smooth and punchy, the guitar crisp and clean, and the drums snappy. The murmur of conversation floated in the air, and ice clinked in whiskey glasses.

  I met Tony at the bar. The big guy leaned against the counter and had a glass of whiskey waiting for me.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Just wait.”

  “For?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I took a sip of the amber liquid. It was smooth, top shelf stuff.

  “Word has it he’s a regular here,” Tony said.

  “Bam Bam?”

  Tony nodded.

  I leaned against the bar with Tony, sipping whiskey, taking in the sights and sounds of the club. When Bam Bam finally entered, he did so in style. He was impeccably dressed in an Acardi suit, a Carboni shirt, a D’Antonio silk tie and matching pocket square, and Gaspari leather cap-toe lace-up shoes. He had a gorgeous blonde on either arm. He was the picture of style and sophistication.

  The hostess led him to a reserved table near the stage. A bottle of chilled champagne was quickly brought to him in a silver bucket of ice. The waiter popped the cork and poured the bubbly golden liquid into champagne flutes.

  The ladies toasted their benefactor, and they sipped their drinks, leaving lipstick stains on the glasses. Bam Bam looked like he was in seventh heaven. And who wouldn't be? It seemed like he had it all.

  “He's here every night till close.” Tony said. "He always sits at that table."

  "Great. But I can't arrest him for listening to jazz music."

  “Who said anything about arresting him?” Tony muttered.

  I’m not sure exactly what he had in mind, but it probably wasn’t legal.

  "You can't tell me that guy doesn't have an eight ball in his pocket," Tony said.

  "You want me to bust him on a bullshit possession charge? Then what?"

  “You lean on him a little."

  “I can lean on him all I want, but he’s not going to come out and say he ordered one of his thugs to kill Warren or beat up Jack.”

  Tony smiled. “I was hoping you’d come to that conclusion.”

  “Even if I could to bring him in, I’m on leave.”

  There was a long pause, then Tony chose his words carefully. “I’m not suggesting anything, mind you. But you could grab him and bag him. Waterboard him until the son-of-a-bitch talks."

  "Oh, sure. Why not?" I said, my voice thick with sarcasm. "I'm not in enough trouble. Let's add more."

  “That scumbag had Jack put into the hospital. He probably had the old man killed. And what happens the next time somebody tries to get one of his pushers to stop dealing around the schools? You think this is just going to stop?"

  I knew Tony was right, but I didn't like where this was going.

  "How many kids are going to die because of the shit he puts on the street? And what happens when he starts cutting his product with fentanyl, or something worse?”

  I hadn’t seen Tony get this worked up since his daughter was kidnapped.

  “Look, I’m no angel. But I’ve got a soft spot for kids, old people, and animals. This scumbag needs to go down.”

  I gritted my teeth. "So, what's your plan?"

  A sly grin curled on Tony’s lips. He subtly motioned to the table next to Bam Bam.

  Two men sat with stoic faces, surveying the crowd, monitoring the entrances and exits. They weren’t interested in the show. While Bam Bam was enjoying himself, his hired guns were all business.

  ”That's his security. They carry pistols in shoulder holsters, and subcompacts around the ankles. That's the only security he has. We can take them down easy peasy.”

  My eyes narrowed at Tony. "You're a bad influence."

  He shrugged innocently. "Who me?"

  We stayed at the club for the rest of the evening and observed Bam Bam. After the club closed, we followed him and his entourage to an after-hours bar where he stayed until 3 AM, before heading home.

  I rode in the passenger seat of Tony’s car as we tailed them through the streets of the city. Bam Bam’s SUV pulled up to a luxurious home which backed up to a canal. It was a three-story mansion. Palm trees out front swayed with the breeze.

  A security guard hopped out of the passenger seat and opened the back door for Bam Bam and
his companions. They slid out of the plush leather seats, and the driver killed the engine. He hopped out of the driver’s side, observed the surroundings, then followed the entourage to the front door.

  The bodyguard led the way. He opened the front door, advancing into the home, clearing the area.

  Bam Bam entered with the blondes.

  The driver scanned the yard again, then entered behind them.

  Bam Bam wasn't taking any chances. Every drug dealer had rivals. When you got to a certain level, everybody was trying to knock you off. Rivals either wanted your territory, or they needed bragging rights and street credibility. Survival of the most ruthless.

  Tony grinned. "Like I said, this is easy. Take out the two security guards. Snatch the wanna-be kingpin. We leave the girls screaming."

  "Then what?"

  “You get some answers."

  "And if he admits to ordering the death of Warren?"

  Tony shrugged. “You can save the tax payers some money."

  This was exactly the type of thing I was avoiding.

  I was no stranger to this type of operation. There were many times during my clandestine career when we had to snatch an enemy leader, or a member of an opposition party, and extract information. Once the asset was depleted, they were often retired.

  It wasn't like fishing. You couldn't just catch and release. Any secrets you may have acquired from the asset became useless if the breach of security became revealed to the enemy. I had dispatched plenty of depleted assets in my day. I had always told myself it was for a good and just cause.

  Tony could sense my hesitation. “He put your friend into a coma. Are you going to let that slide?”

  Bam Bam was a bad man. But kidnapping him, torturing him, and killing him wasn't exactly going to earn me any brownie points in my quest for redemption.

  “Sometimes you gotta get a little dirty to clean things up,” Tony said.

  I thought for another moment. “This is a three person job. We need a wheel-man and two operators.”

  Tony grinned. “Relax. It’s all taken care of. I’ve already made some phone calls. Go home. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

  I gave him a curious glance.

  “You did me a solid. I’m returning the favor. Now I’m gonna take you home. Plausible deniability, and all that. In case things go wrong.”

  34

  I didn’t get much sleep. My mind raced. To say I had misgivings about this whole operation would be an understatement. There was a line that I had been trying not to cross, but I kept finding myself on the other side of it.

  It was just before sunrise when Tony called. My cabin was still pitch black. I grabbed the phone and swiped the screen. My brain could barely form sentences, and my raspy morning voice filed a workplace grievance. “Is it done?”

  "Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Tony said in that thick New York accent. "I don't know anything about this, mind you. But I just got an anonymous phone call. There is a gift-wrapped package for you in the abandoned warehouse by Salt Point Harbor."

  I was silent a moment.

  “Say thank you, Tony."

  "Thank you, Tony," I said, my voice still scratchy.

  I hung up the phone and climbed out of bed. I pulled on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and stuffed my holster inside my waistband for an appendix carry. There was no time for breakfast.

  I left the boat and jogged down the dock to my bike. A moment later, I was cruising down the highway, the wind whistling through my helmet.

  There was an old red brick warehouse by the harbor with hazy windows, most of them busted. It had been many things over the years, but had sat empty for the last several. It needed a major renovation. There was probably asbestos in the insulation around the piping and in the floor tiles. The renovation would probably cost more than the property itself. Then there were the demolition permits. The large for sale sign on the side of the building was faded and stressed.

  I rode my bike into the empty parking lot. The main doors were locked, and the first story windows were mostly boarded shut—except for one that had been ripped away during the last storm. The transom window was ajar.

  I spread it farther open with a squeak, then grabbed the sill and pulled myself through the narrow space.

  I tumbled into the dusty warehouse. Shafts of morning light beamed in, illuminating the hazy air. Paint was flaking and cracked. Old invoices were scattered about the floor. The cavernous space was mostly empty, save for a few pieces of machinery. In the middle of the room was my prize.

  Bam Bam was tied to a chair with a black bag over his head. He wore gold silk underwear, and gold socks. That was it.

  He'd been snatched from his bed in the wee hours of the morning by Tony’s associates. His Mafia connections could get to anybody.

  Near Bam Bam, on the floor, was a self-striking, trigger activated, propane torch. It had a removable propane canister the size of a can of spray paint. You could purchase one at any home improvement store. A yellow sticky note attached to the torch read: Truth Serum.

  Beside the torch was a pair of pliers. Next to that was a ball-peen hammer. Tony had thought of everything.

  Bam Bam heard me shuffle through the cavernous space, unable to see. He stammered, “You back for more?"

  "Tell me about Davon Jones?"

  "Man, I don't know no Davon Jones!”

  Bloodstains seeped through the black bag over his head. He’d been worked over pretty good before I got to him.

  "That's not the answer I want to hear."

  "Who are you? What do you want?"

  "I just told you what I want. I want you to start telling the truth, or things are going to get really ugly for you."

  "Man, go fuck yourself."

  I couldn't resist the urge to pummel the scumbag in the face. I threw a right cross that connected with his cheek and wrenched his head to the side.

  Damn, that felt good!

  It hurt my knuckles, but it felt good.

  Bam Bam groaned.

  "You can drop the tough guy act,” I said. “It's not working for you."

  "I guarantee, you are going to pay. When I get out of here, my crew is going to fuck you up."

  I laughed. "Really? Your crew? Let's see, would that be the same crew that kept you from getting kidnapped in the middle of the night?"

  Bam Bam was silent.

  "Oh, that's right, they didn't. So now you're here. And if you want to walk out of this warehouse alive, you're going to tell me everything I want to know." I was bluffing—I think.

  "Who are you?"

  "Your worst nightmare. Let me give you a little bit of background… I'm extremely well trained in interrogation tactics. I also know my way around anatomy. I have plenty of experience with torture. And I don't get squeamish. I'm thinking about starting with a pair of pliers. I'll pull out your fingernails one by one, and I guarantee you, by the time I get to 10, you won't want to stop talking."

  Bam Bam trembled slightly.

  "Maybe I'll take a ball-peen hammer to the toes. That's always fun. After that, I've got a propane blowtorch. I like using those on the eyes. If you heat them just right, they'll boil and pop. Excruciating."

  "Alright, alright! What the fuck do you want to know?"

  "Tell me about Davon Jones?"

  I scooped up the propane torch and ignited it. Bam Bam heard the strike of the flint and the ignition of the gas. Blue flame spewed from the nozzle. I held it in front of his face so he could feel the heat.

  "Nothing to tell,” Bam Bam said. “Davon slings product for me."

  "You mean, he used to."

  "Yeah, he's dead. Tragedy."

  "Did you order the hit?"

  Bam Bam said nothing.

  I inched the blue flame closer.

  He leaned his head as far away as he could. I kept moving the blue flame closer to the black bag.

  "Okay. Shit, man! Yeah, I ordered the hit. He was gonna roll on me. They had him on murder charges."

>   "Which brings me to my next question. Did you send him to kill the old man?"

  "What old man?"

  "Warren Russell?"

  "Yeah. So what?"

  "That man was a goddamn hero!”

  "Why do you give a shit?"

  I growled at him and pushed the flame even closer. "Because I do."

  "Ease up, bro. The old man was dead when Davon got to him. Somebody else killed him."

  "Who?"

  "How the fuck should I know?"

  "The cop that was assaulted last night. One of your men do that?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  I jammed the blue flame millimeters from his right eye.

  Bam Bam twisted his head away.

  "The deputy that's been sniffing around asking questions about you. You didn't put a hit on him?"

  "Oh, man. I didn't even know I was under investigation."

  "Are you lying to me?" I asked, continuing to threaten him with the flame.

  "Motherfucker, why would I lie?"

  I pulled the flame away and extinguished it. I snatched the pliers from the ground and snapped them twice. “I think I'll save the seared eyeballs for later and start with the fingernails. How does that sound?"

  "I swear to God, I'm not lying! That's the God's honest truth."

  I let him stew in his own panic for a moment. "What are you willing to do to avoid torture and disfigurement?"

  "Anything. You name it." He paused. "I mean, you don't want me to suck nothing, do you?"

  "Let me tell you how this is gonna go down. I'm gonna call the cops. They’re gonna find you here. You're going to confess to contracting the murder of Davon Jones. You're going to spill the beans on your little drug operation. Is that clear?"

  Ban Bam nodded.

  "If you don't, I'll come after you. You know I can get you anywhere. And I will make you regret it." I snapped the pliers twice again.

  Bam Bam flinched.

  "Are we clear?"

  "We’re clear."

  I left the warehouse and crawled out the window, then called Denise. "Hey, I got an anonymous tip that a drug dealer was tied up in a warehouse. Can you send a patrol unit to check out the old warehouse near Salt Point Harbor?"